


Five times Sam Tyler's had to jerk off at work..

by millygal



Series: Five Things - LoM [8]
Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: 5 Things, 5 Times, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 13:25:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10697919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: Hunger strikes...





	Five times Sam Tyler's had to jerk off at work..

I.

"Hey, Mr Litton. I think you'd better swallow it down. We had a result. One nil" The words trip off his tongue before he's had chance to process them. It's a natural reaction to outsiders challenging their authority. 

It feels good and easy, like for like. Being part of the team, fighting for instead of against. It's always so bloody tiring, keeping something of yourself back, stepping away from the crowd instead of falling into it. Today, now, Sam craves that unifying quality.

It helps, when he looks at his Guv, and that's what Gene is, even if Sam won't admit it. It definitely helps that the look in Gene's eyes is one that screams of pride instead of disappointment or exasperation.

As Sam watches the team, his team, get stuck into Litton's, adrenaline begins to crackle across his nerves, shooting minuscule messages that bypass his brain and go straight to his core. It jazzes him, readies him for the act of standing as one. Something he's been missing, on a subconscious level, since he arrived here.

Gene's...well, he's an animal but that's nothing new. No, when he's this juiced, this worked up, he's...magnificent. He's all the things Sam doesn't know he wants to be. Something about stripping back the layers of bullshit, working with his inner demons, calls out to Sam's baser instincts. The ones he tries so bloody hard to hide day to day.

It's fight or flight, kill or be killed. Even if they're a bunch of over weight, over bearing, nicotine stained alcoholics, they're Sam and Gene's men and you can chuck shit at them, but not their officers.

Sam almost begrudges Gene his easy anger and natural fire.

Afterwards, alone and frustrated, Sam braces his back against the toilet door and lets his inhibitions drop. Allows himself to remember what Gene looked like fighting by his side. What it felt like having that kind of power working with him.

Once, just once, Sam'd love to shrug it all off, let the facade fall away. Shed the status that keeps him tethered to the 'right' way of doing things. 

He wants to become what Gene already is: Raw, basic, primeval and above all else, free.

As he slides one sweaty palm along his cock, Sam imagines what it'd be like to become Gene, to inhabit his world. 

Pumping his hips, slamming himself into his clenched fist, Sam arches his back, lashes out and puts his fist through the wall to stop himself completely unravelling.

The last thing he sees, before he passes out, is Gene's face. 

Fight or flight. Kill or be killed.

II.

Quick as a whip, Gene hooks his arse onto the bar and slides across it. Landing far more gracefully than Sam would've thought, Gene takes a couple of steps and punches a nameless man in the face, knocking him out cold.

Gene turns, mistakes Sam's expression for one of disapproval and mouths 'what?' at him.

Sam shakes his head, gives Gene a hand to retrieve the guy now slumped against a table leg and allows Gene to carry on thinking he's upset over the unprovoked attack.

Later, alone in the kitchen, Sam stands in front of the sink, slips his fingers beneath the waist band of his trousers and imagines Gene sliding over him the way he did the bar.

Sam's not sure, it could just be the underlying threat of exposure, could be the adrenaline pumping round his system but he's got to do something about the heat on his skin, the tension in his shoulders.

Picturing Gene, blond hair messy, green shirt open to the waist, Sam pumps his fist as fast as possible and cums with a muffled shout.

Wiping himself on the tea towel slung over his shoulder, Sam buttons up and pretends he hasn't just jerked himself off to memories of the Guv.

III.

After Gene's finished shouting the odds and walked away, Sam feels his anger flare, again.

How fucking dare he, this is not his fault. Except, Sam knows it is. For once he's got no one else to blame this on but himself. He baited Ray into checking that car, he couldn't let it slide.

Now he's bouncing off the walls, trying to come up with a way of making it better without admitting who's actually at fault.

Instead of going after Gene, Sam storms away from the cells and up to lost and found. Flicking the lock and punching the wall next to the door, Sam enjoys the way his knuckles crack against the brick.

Smashing his hand into the wall over and over again, Sam finds himself still unsatisfied. Closing his eyes, biting his lip, Sam rams a hand down his trousers, grips his cock and pumps his fist in time with his punches.

One hand bleeding, one hand cramping, Sam falls into a shuddering orgasm.

Resting his palm against the wall, blood still trickling across the back of his hand, Sam retracts the other from his pants and grimaces at the sticky mess now covering his fingers.

Flicking his wrist, spattering the glass with cum, Sam unlocks the door and walks out, still frustrated.

IV.

A full grown man in a tufty costume is not sexy. Not in the slightest. So why does Sam keep imagining Gene's strong body covered in a blue suit and fur?

It's not natural but as Sam plants his feet up against the cubicle door and slides his cock against his palm, he can't help remembering the way Gene'd looked in the outfit.

All barely repressed rage and panic at the prospect of going down for a crime he hadn't committed.

It's with a humiliated shout that Sam's hips jerk and he cums. Hard.

V.

It's late, it's so far past late it's knocking on for early and they're still sat in the canteen at work. Just him and Gene and a bottle of single malt.

It'd started out as a way to make up for nearly getting them all killed, it's ended up as an all nighter that's threatening to turn the pair of them blind.

The hangover's gonna be interesting anyway.

"M'sorry"

Gene looks up and snorts, "You sorry you got caught or you sorry you didn't succeed?"

Sam's horrified expression tells Gene all he needs to know and he lowers his glass, stands and leans over the table.

Sam obviously thinks he's gonna get a smack because he flinches, but Gene just pulls him up by his collar and presses his face close, "Jus', tell me you're sorry, Sammy boy. That's all I need"

Sam lets his forehead rest against Gene's and closes his eyes, "I am, Gene, I'm..I'm sorry. Morgan he..and I.."

Gene shoves Sam lightly and shakes his head, "No..stop. That's all I wanted"

Sam mouths 'thank you' then slides his lips across Gene's. Day old stubble rakes against his face but he doesn't care because he's finally tasting what he's been imagining for months. 

The table topples, they fall together and nothing else matters. Not the gun shot wounds, not the broken promises, not the disappointment or betrayal. Just this.

As one, they shed their trousers, slide against each other, fumble for some kind of foot hold until they can come up with a decent rhythm that leaves them both panting.

Cocks pressed together, Gene and Sam buck and kick, ride out the first waves of oblivion until nothing else exists.

 

 

 

 

 

Fin


End file.
